


obsidian daydreams

by lilibug



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: AU, Aftercare, Body Worship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Mating Bites, Nesting, Predator/Prey undertones, Shameless Smut, a/b/o dynamics, alpha!jughead, and of course FEELINGS, and they were STEPSIBLINGS, breeding talk, charles cooper is a cockblock, omega!betty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:55:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25004263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilibug/pseuds/lilibug
Summary: Designations ruled biology and Betty would be a slave to it all no matter how much she didn't (or did) want to fall prey to it.It's just unfortunate that her step-brother, Jughead, happens to be an Alpha. It's a good thing she's only a Beta...… right?
Relationships: Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones
Comments: 71
Kudos: 346
Collections: 7th Bughead Fanfiction Awards - Nominees, 7th Bughead Fanfiction Awards — Winners!





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beta by the best of the best: [@bugggghead](https://bugggghead.tumblr.com) & [@bettycooper](https://bettycooper.tumblr.com)  
> i’m hopeful to have weekly chapter updates, but don’t crucifix me if not. i may take a break or two for other things to drop. 
> 
> anywho, enjoy!

It's early August, long days and hot nights stretching on like shimmering waves of heat lingering above dark pavement. Cicadas hum in the trees, singing in lazy strokes that mirror the delicate ripples on the surface of the swimming pool like an echo. Everything feels hazy around the edges, days bleeding together like multiple exposures on film.

Betty never wants it to end.

She swirls a hand in the pool water, face buried in the crook of her elbow as she lays along the cool slab of concrete. The sun is low in the sky, the faint smell of rain on the horizon as the clouds slowly bunch together. She can't help but hope it washes away the stench that's been plaguing her.

The words taste bitter and she huffs, bringing her hand up and letting the water slick her flyaway hairs up and away from her forehead. Her head lolls to the side as she glances over her bicep to where Polly is napping in a lounge chair.

Her stomach is round, protruding.

 _ **Full of pups**_. The beat after that thought feels wrong. Because it is.

Her sister, barely eighteen, is already on her way to becoming a mother. Their parents would blame it entirely on Jason Blossom's designation if they could, except that both he and Polly are Betas and they really have no excuse otherwise.

But that doesn't stop their blood feud with the Blossoms. Nothing will. It's a deep-seated hatred rooted in maple syrup, their great grandfathers buried six feet under far before their time because of it.

It doesn't help that they're technically cousins.

With a sigh, Betty peels herself away from the side of the pool and rises to her feet, arms stretching high above her head with a yawn. She feels like a cat after a long nap, blinking owlishly up at the greying sky.

She nudges Polly with her foot, toenails the sultry red that their mother hates with a passion.

"Pol." Her sister stirs a little with a soft exhale. "Pol, it's getting dark and definitely looks like rain might be on the way."

"Mmm, don't wanna move."

"FP was going to make hotdogs."

There's some contemplation after that, her eyes squeezing shut before slowly squinting up. "With chili?"

"Possibly. Maybe even those fried onions you like so much."

Polly makes a face at that while swatting the foot away from her side. "I don't _like_ them, I hate them."

"Then why have you been putting them on everything?"

"One of the _babies_ likes them."

Her eyes roll. "O-K, let's go feed the babies then."

Holding her hand out, Betty wiggles her fingers until her sister grabs hold and swings her legs over the edge of the chair. Pulling Polly to her feet, they both wobble a little before righting themselves on the air of a giggle.

Arm in arm, they slip back into their sandals and grab their towels, long since dried by the descending sun. Their skin is sunkissed from days of laying out with nothing better to do than drink up the rays and marinate in the water.

The house is freezing inside, air conditioning on what feels like full arctic blast. Sliding the door closed behind them, there's a suction of air as the gap closes and the smell inside is intense in all the ways she hates to think about.

It has Betty shivering all the way to her toes.

Polly immediately heads across the kitchen, comfortable in just her coverup and the cool air, eyes already on the platter of hotdogs resting on the counter. She grabs one without the bun and swallows it in three bites, hands reaching for a plate and chips to load up more.

"Did the babies smell the food from all the way out there?"

FP is leaning against the entryway, dish towel hanging off his shoulder as his eyes crinkle with a smile. He sets his bottle of beer down on the counter, half empty, as he shuffles in, and she can hear some type of sports game on in the background in the living room behind him.

"I think Betty smelled it more than them," Polly offers, preoccupied with filling her plate.

 _Not_ _exactly_ , but she simply smiles with a tilt of her head. "I could smell your good cooking a mile away."

"Flattery will get you everywhere." He wags a finger at her, before slipping past her with a ruffle of her hair. She ducks before he can muss it too much, already wavy and frizzy from the pool's chlorine. "Why don't you go grab Jug and Archie from his room? Tell 'em the grub's ready."

Her spine straightens, shoulders tensing as she looks at something unassuming, like the grapes turning to raisins on the kitchen island. "Oh, uh, maybe they're busy—"

"Those boys are never too busy to eat," Polly adds unhelpfully.

"—yeah, okay. I'll… go tell them."

"Thanks, kiddo," FP throws over his shoulder as he stirs the chili, Polly looming at his side with her plate at the ready.

The scene is a little too sweet, her teeth grinding unconsciously before she turns on her heel.

It's not that she doesn't like FP, because she does. It just still feels raw, even after three years of marriage to her mother. It reminds her of the fact that her own father refuses to see her, or any of them, anymore.

Her steps are light as she climbs the stairs, despite feeling so heavy. Fingers tuck a section of hair behind her ear, and she pinches at the bathing suit covering her hips, letting the fabric snap back against her skin in a delightful sting. Chewing her lip, she pauses, staring at the artful swirls of her name that delineate her room from the others in the hall. She's wearing a one-piece with some arguably tiny jean shorts, but _it's fine_.

She continues past it.

The door next to her own is blank and melancholy, _"Just the way I like it,"_ Jughead had said after they finished moving in last year. They had finally upgraded from the Cooper home, a room for him with an actual door being a necessity. Though she suspects he misses all the space of the basement he had to himself.

There's only a little sound that escapes under the door that sounds like button mashing, and she stills, hand raised to knock. She ignores the tremble in her fingers and raps her knuckles across the wood, quiet and quick.

Only a second later, the door flies open in a _whoosh_ , stealing all her breath with it. She holds what's left, freezing in place and wondering what she did to deserve this fresh Hell.

Jughead is standing there in a _fitted_ white tank— _ **Has he been working out? HE LOOKS LIKE A SNACK**_ —and loose shorts, minus his signature grey beanie. It's been lost somewhere in the depths of his room since early July. He's running a hand through his hair. Long, thin fingers weave through the dark strands as his gaze lowers from her face and then darts back up just as quick.

"Betty," he breathes, like he was expecting her. "What's up?"

"Your dad said to tell you guys the food's ready." She folds one arm behind her back, rocking onto her heels as she juts a thumb over her shoulder.

"Fuck." That word does things to her it absolutely shouldn't. "What time _is_ it?"

"It's like, nine o'clock, bro," Archie casually informs them from his spot behind Jughead, laying on his back on the floor. Shirtless. Abs on display.

Betty looks away, finally remembering to breathe when her lungs scream in protest. Her nostrils flare and she can't help the hand she slaps up to cover her nose. It's woodsy and deep, thick like smoke and curling into every one of her pores. At the source, it is so much stronger. Heady. She wants to wrap herself in a blanket of it, carry it with her forever, rub it into her skin.

It's terrifying to know that this is what it's like, even hiding underneath the blockers he swallows every morning.

"You guys _reek_ ," she says instead, waving her hand in front of her face. _**He smells good enough to eat**_ —

He frowns at that, eyeing her critically, and she begins to feel warm under the focused attention.

Then, he plucks at his tank top, yanking the strap up to sniff at. She can see a good inch and a half of olive toned skin and dark hair trailing into the waist of his shorts. It makes her sway a little, even with her feet now planted firmly on the ground. She looks back to Archie, zeroing in on the way he's scrolling his thumb against his phone.

"Do we really smell that abhorrent?"

"Yes," she says quickly, even though she's one thousand percent sure that Archie smells like nothing, at least to her. "You should probably air the room out a little."

Jughead raises his eyebrows at that since it's sort of a Cooper rule for everyone to keep their doors shut. Something or other about privacy and scenting temptation. A rule explicitly created by their parents when he'd presented.

"Yeah, maybe," he murmurs, before dropping the shirt back down and scratching at the underside of his jaw. "I'll leave it open while we eat. What Alice doesn't know won't kill her."

Ah. Now there was a rule Betty loved to operate by.

Her head tilts, eyes glinting with whimsy. "Gotta love those quarterly Women in Journalism conventions." _If only they were monthly_.

"Four days every three months just not enough for you, Betty?" he teases, lips quirking up in that non-grin of his that always forces a smile out of her.

And she realizes that yes, she did, in fact, say that last bit out loud, but that's not really the issue.

The problem is the combination of words. The way they seemed to bring forth the image of something else entirely that typically lasts just as long, if not longer. Her cheeks grow hot at the thought, and she has to turn her face away, eyes sliding to the floor as she grips her wrist behind her back.

It's painful to ignore the forceful images that flare to life in the back of her mind. They feel as real as anything else, and that's the scary part.

_Breath against her neck, eyes dilated so wide she can barely see the blue-gray. He licks a strip up the column of her throat, moving under her ear and around to the dip below her skull where her mating gland pulses with life of its own. His teeth graze it, her hips canting up in response as her breath stutters violently. She can feel the needy whine in her chest and the dryness of her mouth, gasping for air._

_The planes of his body are solid under her fingers, barely giving way when she rakes her nails against his sides. He growls in her ear, the vibration chasing a shiver down her spine._

_"Betty…"_

She shrugs, hoping it isn't as stiff as it feels.

"Don't worry, I feel it, too."

Her head snaps back up, but he's got his back to her, one foot rocking Archie's shoulder back and forth in a prompt to rise.

"Get off your phone, Romeo. She can live without your constant messages for half an hour." His eyes roll upwards, and he makes to tug on the end of his beanie but realizes a half-second too late that it's not there. He runs a hand through his hair instead.

Archie frowns up at him before glancing back at the screen of his phone with an air of hesitation. "I just really like talking to her."

"Well, gee, I really like talking to you too, buddy."

They squabble at that, Archie grabbing Jughead's leg and successfully pulling him down with an arm hooked under his knee. Then they're rolling around on what little floor is available, grabbing at each other and trying to get the other in some sort of choke hold or something.

Betty just sighs, grateful for the chance to let the heat in her cheeks dissipate. Though seeing Jughead's arms flex and his thighs strain beneath his shorts is fairly counterintuitive. She really should just _leave_ —

_**Get that redhead AWAY FROM HIM!** _

With a frown, she turns away, a disgruntled noise rising in her throat without her consent. " _Boys_."

That pulls them from their tussle, both blinking up at her as she crosses her arms over her chest. She doesn't miss the way both their gazes flicker to the low plunge of her swimsuit suddenly put on display.

"I'm going back downstairs. It'd be a shame to have to feed the rest of the food to Hot Dog."

Jughead is aghast. "But that's _cannibalism_."

"Oh my god," Archie follows his fake indignation as they cling to each other, making her want to click her tongue against the roof of her mouth. "That's terrible, Betts."

Hit by a wave of something spicy—like cinnamon—in the air that tingles her nose, she glances at the way Jughead's brows knit together, his fingers flexing, before his arm is successfully around Archie's throat.

" _Submit_ ," he says coolly, even, and low.

It's his Alpha voice.

Betty digs her fingers in against her arms, lips parting to take in a small breath as she fights to shift her weight around on her feet. Her stomach flip-flops, body feeling warm all over from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes. She both can and can't imagine the sound of his voice directed at her instead—what that might do to her.

Archie grunts but stops struggling in Jughead’s hold. “Not fair, bro.”

“Well, it may have escaped your notice but life isn’t fair.” Jughead smirks and it’s downright dangerous.

Betty has to turn away, putting one foot in front of the other as her head swims, fingers rubbing at her temple briefly. He’s pulling out all the stops and quoting Harry Potter, and as much as she finds that nerdy in the best of ways, it’s also the worst. Plus, she’s going to have a headache from being in his doorway for so long, from his overwhelming scent. Her nose crinkles up, and she hopes it morphs into the disgust she desperately wants it to be.

“—wait, Betty—”

She’s contemplating locking herself in her room for the rest of the night when a hand wraps around her wrist.

“Don’t leave us.” But it’s _me_ she hears instead. “We were going to go for a night swim after.”

“It’s going to rain.” She shakes her head, ignoring the roar of delight that fills her chest at the way his hand covers her skin. She hopes he can’t feel the jump of her pulse when she glances at the skin above his own wrist before darting away.

“Sounds like even more fun.” He grins, tugging on her arm and forcing her to take a step towards him. “We don’t get to spend that much time together when your mom is home.”

It’s not that Alice doesn’t like Jughead, but he presented early, a day after his fifteenth birthday—surprising everyone but his mother, Gladys. He had been falling into rut for days prior, all the symptoms were there, but overshadowed by his usual morose attitude. With two teenage daughters in the house, it was understandable that her mother had been concerned. As an Alpha herself, she knew what it entailed.

“I know,” she says quietly, bringing her eyes up from the image of his socked feet to the dejected furrow of his brow. “So, why is Archie here then?” The words come out before she can bite her tongue.

He recoils a little, hand slackening around her wrist, but still there. “Do you want us to be alone?”

Realistically, they still won’t be. They never are. Polly is around all day, and FP whenever he gets home from work. But yes, that’s exactly what she wants.

“I mean—I don’t know." She sighs, turning to face him properly. “I just always feel like the third wheel around you both.”

He frowns. “Really? Well, you know I’m not—”

“Not like _that_.” She shakes her head with a laugh. “You’re just… best friends. I feel like an outsider.”

“Try being around you and Veronica,” he counters, and that pulls a little smile from her. “You should have invited her, might have distracted Archie from his phone for more than a minute.”

“Who is he seeing, anyway?” she asks, only the slightest bit curious about his flavor of the week. This summer has been very productive for one Archie Andrews, but she might say anything to prolong this moment. She's weak.

“He won’t actually tell me.” Jughead shrugs. “I imagine because it’s either an Alpha or an Omega that we don’t know about yet.”

Her brows raise at that, the need to scratch her arm above where his fingers rest on her wrist rising with each second. She tilts her head to the side and grins. “Sounds scandalous.”

“So... swim?” he asks, glancing down to her wrist still in his grasp, before letting go after another long second passes.

It doesn't take much effort to reply. “Fine—you’ve worn me down, Jones.”

_**Suggest skinny dipping! STRIP FOR HIM!** _

“Never did take much.” He smirks and she kind of wants to shove her hand into his stupid face and wipe it away.

“Tread carefully.” Betty blinks with a saccharine sweetness, eyelashes fluttering dramatically. “Or you’ll be choking on chlorine.”

“Is that a threat?”

There’s an edge to his voice, pupils dilating in accordance. She wonders how much of that is his Alpha and how much is simply Jughead. It’s hard to control herself from biting back, just to see how far she can test the limits of this conversation.

Her lips tingle, the corner of her mouth lifting in a challenge. “I think you’d like that a little too much if it was, so down, boy,” she tutts, before turning away from him and motioning for him to follow. “Sustenance first. Play time later.”

“I’m not a dog.”

He sounds sullen, and she can see him grumbling from the corner of her eye. “Could have fooled me.”

She’s acutely aware of his presence behind her as she walks, feeling incomparably small as she suddenly imagines him throwing his arms around her and swallowing her within his broad shoulders. It sends her off kilter, breath hitching as she misses a step in their descent down the stairs.

Jughead’s hand winds underneath her bicep just as she begins to tilt forward. “Easy,” he murmurs and it feels like velvet against the crown of her head as he hauls her up.

It’s hot, searing heat against her arm and down her spine. Her entire focus is on gritting her teeth to stop the pitiful sound clawing its way up her throat. She shakes his hand off, hoping her sweaty palms are imperceptible as she wipes them against her shorts. “I’m good.”

He backs off, letting her take another step to seperate them, and then they’re hitting the hardwood. Archie rounds up behind them, lazily scrolling through his phone again as he pays them little attention.

“Food?”

“In the kitchen,” she bites out, uncaring of the way her brows knit together.

“Cool,” Archie mumbles without ever looking up, hand raking through his hair as he saunters toward the kitchen.

Betty wants to scoff at his display of skin and muscle, still shirtless, though he’s as oblivious as they come. It doesn’t excite her like it used to.

 _ **Not Alpha**_.

She shakes her head, closes her eyes for a moment of composure and manages to choke down a hotdog while pretending not to watch each movement of Jughead’s hands as he fills his plate next to her. His fingers are long and thin. How perfectly they would feel curled inside her cunt—

“Woah, Betty—are you ok?” Archie slaps a hand across her upper back once, twice, in an effort to assist with her sudden coughing.

“Yeah—” She covers her mouth, coughing and sucking in air all at once. “M’fine.”

“You’re like, all red. Did you get a sunburn today?” he asks, feigning interest even as his eyes track back to his phone and he brings his own hotdog up to take a bite.

She feels the heat of her cheeks, less to do with the choking and more to do with the daydream she’d like to fall back into, and lays a palm over the curve as she looks away from the bar. Away from where Jughead has just settled in with his full plate next to Archie, where she can feel his gaze sliding down her body and assessing her for himself. Everything feels _itchy,_ and she can’t help but blink down at the inside of her arm, still perfectly smooth, unblemished skin. She digs her nails into her wrist and the feeling lessens, mildly so, but she breathes some relief and clears her throat.

“Maybe.” Betty shrugs, popping a potato chip into her mouth and pushing the rest of her plate away. Her stomach gurgles in protest, but she can’t be sure from what.

“You should wear sunscreen,” Jughead grumbles behind a mouthful of food.

She makes a face at that, nose scrunching up. “Says the hypocrite who goes outside without it all the time.”

“I’m more suited to it—”

Something overtakes her, her hackles rising as she clenches her fingers around the counter she’s leaning back against.

“Oh, because you’re a big bad Alpha and you can take the heat?” she practically hisses, the sting of her words like a double-edged sword. It hurts her tongue, feels sour in her mouth after she swallows the lump in her throat.

Only the awkward sound of Archie crunching on his chips echoes through the room.

“No.” Jughead frowns. “I just mean because you’re more fair-skinned than me.”

She deflates a bit, shoulders drooping down from taut to relaxed as she hooks a hand around her elbow and looks away from him. Her cheeks burn with shame, displeasure rippling through her chest.

Designation law and politics always rile her up. She has no right to be incensed, with no secondary presentation. _Yet_ , she thinks with a quiet echo of sadness. Which, in itself, is annoying. She had turned seventeen in June without grandeur, while most presented either before or just after. To be a slave to biology is one thing, but to dream about being an Omega? To _hope_ for it? She couldn’t help but be disgusted with herself.

If she had a late presentation as an Alpha, it would be karma stabbing her in the back for all her traitorous thoughts.

“Right.” Betty shakes her head. “Sorry.”

Hot Dog chooses that moment to brush by her knees, his shaggy fur tickling her thighs as he rubs his head against her hip. His tongue is out, happily panting as he stares up at her, before sitting patiently at her feet.

She cracks a smile, dropping her hand to run her fingers through the soft grey and white of his coat. It imbues a calming sensation from her fingertips all the way to the pit in her stomach. “Such a good boy.”

_**We can be good, too.** _

He nudges her hand with his nose and lolls his tongue to the side, tail flopping against the floor.

“Glad he likes you better than me.”

Deep wood, dewy moss—she can almost feel the earth sliding between her fingertips as she looks up when Jughead sets his plate into the sink beside her. She blinks, wondering how long she got lost in petting Hot Dog. He'd soaked up the attention like a sponge without complaint.

“Well, can you really blame him?” Betty quips before she can wrestle the words down.

He chuckles, bending forward just a touch and rubbing one of the dog’s ears. His hand brushes her own atop Hot Dog’s head, pinky grazing the side of her palm as he pets back through the fur. “Not in the slightest.”

She fights a small smile, tucking her top lip in against her teeth as she pulls her hand away and rubs it against her shorts.

“Want to head outside? We’ll go get changed.” Jughead looks up through the hair falling into his eyes and she’s desperate to push it up and away from his forehead. “Unless you don’t… _want_ to swim anymore or—”

“No—” His shoulders slump for a half-second. She swallows. “I do.”

“Great. I—I mean, yeah, right.” He takes a step back. “We’ll be back in a sec.”

She looks away, feigning cool indifference as his footsteps fade against the floor, a second set in tow.

Polly is asleep on the couch in the living room and Betty watches the light from the TV flash across her features before slipping through the sliding door in the kitchen. FP is in the recliner and, from what she can guess, asleep as his hand dangles over the arm.

Running a hand through her ponytail, she smoothes down the length and hums over the thought of a trim before the start of their senior year. Taking the scrunchie out, she fluffs her hair over her shoulders and kicks off her sandals at the poolside. She looks back to the house where she can see the light on through Jughead’s bedroom window.

She left her towel inside and wonders if he’ll have the forethought to bring her one.

Or maybe they could share.

_**Yaaaassss! Curl up in those nice strong arms!** _

Closing her eyes, she sighs. Her mother would have a conniption if she saw inside her head for even one second.

Her nail catches on the button of her shorts, tapping against the metal as she dips a toe in against the first step leading into the pool. The water is the same temperature as the air now that the sun has set, and there are big grey clouds bunched in the sky above, obscuring the stars. It still smells like rain, heavier than before.

Goosebumps rise along her arms and she imagines the trickle of cool rain along her skin.

“Don’t make me push you in. You’re too tempting just standing there like that.”

Betty bites her lip, turning her head to find Jughead walking towards the pool, towards her. Alone.

“And get my shorts wet? How dare.”

“Well, take them off then.” He smirks, and perhaps it’s some sort of Alpha confidence now that he has his tank top off and the waist of his swim shorts is so incredibly _low_ that—

Yeah, she’s staring.

“As you wish.” With a swish of her hair across her shoulders, she pops the button on her shorts and shimmies them down her legs. If she sways her hips with a bit more exaggeration, she can only hope Archie isn’t watching this all from the window.

Lifting one knee at a time, she steps out of the jean shorts and dangles them from her finger for a second before stepping down onto the first step and letting the water lap at her ankles. She can’t help looking over her shoulder as she tosses the shorts to the ground next to her sandals, his attention never straying from her form.

Turning back, she wades into the water until it’s up to her waist and her toes push off from the last step. She hops a little, getting used to the warmth that still manages to have a bit of a chilly bite. Her fingers glide over the top of the water as she sinks onto her heels, and it laps over her chest as she waves her arms back and forth.

“Night swims are always so nice,” she sighs.

Jughead nods, tongue swiping over his lower lip. Lights illuminate the pool, but she can’t quite see his expression from this far away.

“You have many? Night swims, that is.” He steps into the pool, hand gliding down the silver bar as he adjusts at each level.

For a second, she wonders if he’s ever looked out his window when she’s been out here alone. When the house is quiet and everyone’s snores fill the silence of the night. When she pulls her pajamas over her head and slips into the water, bare beneath the moon.

“Only on occasion,” she offers. “Veronica always entertains the idea of skinny dipping when she’s here.”

He snorts, looking away from her as he settles into the water, dipping down beneath the surface and then quickly bobbing back up.

“She thinks she’s such a bad girl.”

He shakes his head, water droplets dripping down his neck and shoulders as he rises back up until it hits just below his pecs. He pushes the hair off his forehead, slicking the strands back, and she can’t help but trace his profile and every sharp line of his jaw, his Adam’s apple, his shoulders.

Betty realizes her nipples are hard, aching, straining against the fabric covering her chest, and she sinks down until water sloshes against her throat. Much safer.

“It’s that Alpha attitude.”

_**Alpha, Alpha, Alpha.** _

“No.” He gives her a pointed look, and takes a few steps closer. “I assure you, it’s just Veronica.”

“Mmm, maybe.” She shrugs, but her smile gives her away. Her friend has a strong personality, Alpha or not. It’s one of the reasons they complement each other so well.

“Should try to hook her and Archie up.”

She leans back, kicking her feet out and paddling backwards half a step for each one that Jughead takes forward. “I didn’t take you for a matchmaker.”

“Ah, an amendment. _You_ should hook her and Archie up.”

Betty laughs, head dipping into the water as she wets her hair without fully submerging. “I see. Don’t want to do any of the work, but reap all the reward.”

“Hardly,” he sighs. “They would probably be more insufferable, but at least we could do things together more often.”

A shiver tracks up her spine in what feels like slow motion.

It’s impossible not to picture what he’s suggesting. But instead, the image of Archie and Veronica is blurry behind her eyes. The focus is on the way Jughead’s arm slings around her waist, pulling her into his side. His little smile as he looks down at her, the deep grey of his eyes as he sees everything she is.

It’s innocent until it isn’t.

Until the images flash to her laid out on the table at Pop’s with her blouse torn open and buttons scattered across the checkered tile floor. Red-purple bruises line her throat and chest. Jughead’s lips trail between her breasts as he hoists her thighs up to cradle his hips. She can _feel_ the heat of him, his fingers like dancing flames as he pinches her nipple. She purrs with delight, hips flexing up as she moans his name. It tastes like honey on her tongue, and she wants to lick every muscle and dip in his skin—

"Betty."

 _Fuck_.

"Yeah?"

Jughead’s right in front of her, frowning down at where she's hiding in the water.

"Are you afraid of me?"

The question catches her off guard and she takes a breath in, his scent diluted in the water but still strong enough to have her chest feeling tight, head dizzy. She swallows past the lump in her throat and stands until her feet are flat against the bottom of the pool. The wall is just behind her now and she reaches back to rest her fingers against it, to keep herself from reaching out to him. To keep herself from tracing the tips of her fingers along the width of his shoulders, from feeling the shape of his jaw beneath her palm.

“Yes,” she replies quietly with the certainty that he can hear her clear as day. Her heart thumps in her chest, threatening to break free of its constricting cage and it’s a loud rattle in the echo of her ear. She takes a step forward, watching as his features harden. It’s as close as they’ve ever been, but the water is like a magnifying glass, shining clarity in the summer haze.

There are droplets clinging to his eyelashes, long and full and mesmerizing each time he blinks. His pupils are dark and wide in the low light, staring at her with an intensity she can feel buzzing under her skin. She can count the freckles that dot his cheeks and neck, constellations she wants to map all the way down to his shoulders.

He's beautiful.

Betty takes another step forward, until they’re toe to toe. Her chest brushes against his own as she draws in a breath. He’s warm, his skin hot compared to the water that’s chilled without her noticing. She shudders even as her neck and cheeks begin to burn.

“But sometimes I like to be afraid.”

His lips part with the hint of a growl, tongue wetting a dry lower lip as his pupils dilate further. The blue of his iris is confined to only an outline. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Betty.”

It almost sounds like his Alpha voice, and that frightens her; but more than anything, it _excites_ her.

“You think I don’t know exactly what I’m doing?” She unfolds a hand from behind her back, resolve shattering as her fingers graze the inside of his forearm. Sliding them down to his wrist, she brushes over the thin skin above his scent gland and delights in the soft sound it pulls from his throat. Her fingers wind around and she tugs his hand forward through the water.

His palm lands on her hip, fingers like a brand against the bare skin of her thigh. Betty drags it up and over until his fingers brush between her legs, over her swimsuit, but the heat is unmistakable. It has her eyelashes fluttering, her lips parting to suck in a breath, and it nearly chokes her. Her lungs and throat ache with the taste of his scent, like ash and smoke in their terror, but she welcomes it.

His hand presses against her mound, palm cupping her heat without direction, and she can taste the change in his scent. Heavier. Stronger. Charred and burnt and _insidious_.

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” Jughead groans and she can hear the break in his voice. “I should _not_ be fucking doing this.”

“We’re not doing anything,” she breathes. “ _Yet_.”

He leans forward, his nose brushing the side of her temple, and she can feel his open-mouthed pant against her cheek as his fingers graze over her cunt. The touch is barely there, feather light, but it’s enough to make her yearn for more.

She lifts toward his hand, seeking, while wishing they weren’t in the water. Wishing for a lot of things to be that weren’t. Her hand tightens around his wrist, holding him in place as she grabs hold of his elbow to stop the sway of her feet.

“Please,” she whispers. “Touch me, Juggie.”

His shoulders shake, his arms, his fingers. There’s a war waging beneath his skin, borne in his bones from DNA he can’t escape.

“I—”

“Hey guys!” A voice startles them apart like a sick, threatening crack of lightning.

_**NOOOO.** _

Betty breathes harshly, heart slamming against her chest as she turns and stumbles, folding her arms in against herself.

“Taking a late night swim without your big brother, huh?”

A chuckle, and she looks up to find Charles slapping a towel down on one of the lounge chairs and walking close enough that he can finally make them out.

She’s sweating beneath his scrutiny, but his hands are on his hips and he’s smiling, before pushing blond hair back off his forehead in the same manner Jughead does. “Well, guess I wouldn’t wait around for me either. Never know when I’m going to show up anymore.”

 _No kidding_ , she muses and glances over at Jughead to find him pointedly staring at something in the distance, shoulders hunched.

“Considering you moved out, yeah.”

“Well, Mom and Dad conveniently bought a house without a room for me.”

“I wonder why,” Betty gripes, trying not to grit her teeth too hard.

“It’s beyond me, considering I’m the one that brought them back together again.”

How could she forget? She was always looking for similarities to their parents, to _them_ , in his face every time she looked at him. Charles Cooper was a blessing to have back in her life, but his appearance brought on the title of step-brother for Jughead. Which was weird enough without sharing a half-brother.

The world couldn’t have it out for her enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to be continued...
> 
> tumblr is [@lilibug--xx](https://lilibug--xx.tumblr.com)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another day, another chapter. enjoy my loves!
> 
> beta by [@bugggghead](https://bugggghead.tumblr.com) & [@bettycooper](https://bettycooper.tumblr.com)

It turns out, the world did, in fact, have more suffering to offer Betty.

A cold in the middle of summer is an atrocious thing, especially when it seemed to come out of nowhere, without warning, and hit her— _hard_.

First of all, she overslept, which is unusual at any time of the year, but to wake up with sweat soaked sheets and her pulse jumping in her throat is something else entirely. Secondly, she feels like a lead weight is tied to her ankle, struggling through a body of water. The fear of drowning at any moment is present in the back of her mind, unrealistic as it is.

Her limbs are heavy and tired, her stomach revolting with waves of nausea, her lower back tight with pain.

A shower doesn’t help, either. It only makes her dizzy, sweaty, somehow weaker. She laughs at her reflection, clutching the sink between her arms as she folds over the porcelain. It seems comical, but she can feel steam rising off her skin. So much for her fever breaking overnight.

It dawns on her as she lies down on the cool tile in her bathroom—her cheek pressed to the floor, eyes tightly shut to block out the too harsh vanity lights—that she’s supposed to go shopping with Veronica today. School shopping. School starts in two days.

Betty groans.

This is perfect.

_**Don’t go. Sleep. We need SLEEP. Must rest up...** _

Her tongue sticks to the roof of her mouth, cotton-dry, when she tries to huff. She thinks of a million reasons why she should cancel, everything far from the truth. It’s worrisome that she finds telling a lie to be the easier route, even though simply not feeling well is a valid enough excuse.

But she does neither, only picks herself up from the floor with all the grace of a newborn giraffe and shuffles to her closet.

Each piece of clothing feels wrong touching her body, dragging too harshly against heated, sensitive skin. It’s like everything is new, raw, grating on exposed nerves. Betty only realizes how harshly she’s breathing when she’s bending over to tie her shoes and her vision blanks as blood rushes to her head.

The house is quiet. It’s only one in the afternoon, but she can hear the lack of _anything_ with startling clarity.

She heads towards the stairs with heavy-laden steps, feeling only marginally better after taking some ibuprofen which has only seemed to lessen the burn of her skin to a dull heat. Then, earthy, fresh _**comfort**_ lulls her to turn on her heel and ignore the sharp, pricking sensation perking up on her skin, the sweat along her hairline and neck.

Jughead’s bedroom door is open—cracked, imperceptibly so. Like he pulled it shut so hard it rebounded without his notice, not quite catching in the doorframe.

Her hand is on the door, curling around the sharp edge until it bites into her palm. It opens a sliver. Light and air pull her farther until her nose is pressed to the wood. Her fingers tremble as she pushes the door open.

The first thing she notices is that his room looks the same as it always does—each glimpse she’s ever had, at least—but he’s not here. Though, it does nothing to dampen the scent that fills the air. It lingers on every surface, and before she realizes what she’s doing, her finger hooks around the catch in the closet door until it slides open.

His closet is a sea of black, speckled with reds, blues, and greens. There’s a technicolor of gray and plaid, a lone white shirt in the midst. She runs her fingers against the row of fabric and delights at the scent that ruffles in the air like a spritz of perfume. It’s intoxicating, and she would willingly fall under its influence.

Perhaps she already has.

It would explain why she slides her favorite of his flannels off the hanger, squeezes it tight in her fist until it wrinkles, and brings it up to her nose. Inhaling, she chokes on a groan, shoulders hiking up as she hugs the shirt to her chest with conviction. Her heart throbs, a beat so hard she sighs and spits out the fabric that she almost took a bite out of. It tastes just the way it smells, though she imagines licking a path across Jughead’s bare skin would be a world better.

Without a second thought, she balls up the flannel and shoves it into the bottom of her purse.

 _ **Ours**_. The voice in her head rings clear and loud.

She slides the closet door shut again and steps over the inflatable mattress Archie always sleeps on that is dead and dying. Lifting a knee up, she crawls onto Jughead’s messily made bed.

It’s soft and cool as she wiggles between the sheets, arms stretching out until she can touch both edges at once. Her eyes flutter closed as her skin soothes from a burn to a pleasant warmth. She’s in danger of falling asleep again, and she has no reasonable explanation for being in Jughead’s room, let alone rolling around in his bed. It’s only the potential consequences of her actions that keep her from fading into a stupor.

Face pressing into his pillow, she breathes in the smell of him once more and almost whines.

Her phone chimes, loud and obtrusive, buzzing against her hip in the pocket of her shorts. It lifts some of the fog that’s veiled her rational thought.

She digs her phone out and cracks an eye open at the text from Veronica inquiring about her location. After forcing out a response, she lies back into the bed for a moment. She spreads her arms out along the sheets, fingertips gliding over every inch. She wraps the blankets tightly around herself, before she hugs the pillow to her chest and curls up against it. It rubs against her arms and she hopes, _hopes_ , that the scent might linger on her skin.

There’s a wash of cold, frigid ice that spreads through her limbs when she thinks that Veronica might smell it. Smell Jughead on her.

That pulls her from the bed, sitting upright and slightly appalled by her behavior. She smoothes her hair, tucking it back behind her ears, before slipping off the bed and trying to re-arrange the covers how they were before.

Betty digs out the flannel from her purse, stares at it between her hands until she imagines she can see each individual fiber. It’s muted blue and grey, the faintest white stripes. She ties it around her waist, knotting the sleeves tight together and thinks, _this’ll have to do_ , because she’s not taking a shower again. She’s not changing. The thought of purposefully getting rid of his scent physically hurts, like a knife slicing through her stomach.

Just before she walks through the door, her gaze falls on a bright orange prescription bottle. It’s been knocked over, ready to tip off the edge of the dresser. 

She picks the bottle up instead, misses the rattle of pills, and turns it over in her hand to stare at the empty bottle. Jughead’s information is printed on the label, the name of the drug something she can’t even begin to pronounce. But she knows what it is— _was_.

His blockers.

Placing the bottle back where it belongs, she swallows. Where her mouth was dry before, now, her teeth feel razor sharp and slick as saliva floods her cheeks . It's anticipation, like thinking of something sour and tart and she _wantswantswants_ it—wants _him_. Her tongue goes numb and tingly before she realizes she’s bitten down on it.

Swiping her tongue over her bottom lip, she turns and walks through the door...before she does something even more stupid.

Her memory flashes to the night in the pool with Jughead a few weeks ago, the one that Charles so rudely interrupted. Yeah, that was pretty stupid, but her only regret is that it hadn’t gone further.

Alice came home the next day, and it was like nothing had happened at all.

She stares at the couch in the living room, hand tightening around the strap of her purse across her body. They had all watched a movie together last night, another special visit from Charles where he squished between her and Jughead on the couch and laughed so loudly that it made her spill the popcorn—Every. Single. Time.

Growing more and more irritated, Betty stomps through the rest of the house until she flings open the door to their garage. She pulls her skateboard from the corner and punches in the code to open the overhead door, setting the timer for it to close again. She pushes off roughly and kicks and kicks and _kicks_ until the wind is whipping her hair back from her face, and she’s gliding onto the sidewalk, away from the cursed picket fenced neighborhood.

They don't live that far from anything really; their town is fairly small and their house centrally located. So, she manages to get to SoDale before Veronica texts her again, blessedly.

Who, by the way, is waiting for her in the fire lane, leaning against the hood of a shiny black Lincoln.

Her sunglasses tip up when Betty hops off her board and kicks it up. "You could have called me, you know? Now you're sweaty from skating all the way here."

Being trapped in a car with Veronica isn't the sort of nightmare she’d envisioned today. Not that it would have normally been a nightmare. She’s just felt… about ten feet underwater and gasping for breath since she woke up today. It’s a wonder she’s even standing upright at the moment.

But it is true. There’s sweat running down the dip of her spine, and she sucks a breath in as the hairs along her arms rise after she wipes the moisture from the back of her neck. Why did she wear her hair down for heaven's sake?

"I didn't want to bother you," Betty eventually decides on, not sure whether her cheeks are hot from the physical exertion or the fact that her body seems to be mimicking the temperature of the sun today.

She holds out her board and Veronica plucks it from her hand, before flicking her wrist at the man behind the wheel of the car, the trunk popping open a moment later. Once it's tucked away and Smithers has bid them goodbye, there's no obstacle between them anymore.

Veronica eyes her warily for a moment, as if just noticing the flannel around her waist.

"I see you're going for the grunge look today. Taking too many notes out of your brother's lookbook—"

" _Step_ -brother," Betty corrects, perhaps a bit too hastily.

There’s a sly smirk that creeps up when Veronica tilts her head, tucking her sunglasses into the side of her handbag. “Who said I was talking about Jughead?”

She blinks, trying to swallow and stuff down the heat that has returned in full force to her cheeks and neck. It makes her so dizzy she almost sways. “Charles doesn’t—”

Veronica places a calming hand around her elbow and pulls gently. “I’m only teasing. Let’s go into Madam Luxe’s first. There’s this set I’ve had my eye on for a while, and this is the perfect excuse to finally purchase it.”

“Going back to school constitutes a lingerie purchase?”

“But of course. I intend to start senior year off right, after all.” Veronica winks with a mischievous grin.

Betty rolls her eyes but follows with heavy steps, almost grateful to be pulled around. She watches their reflection in the glass of the storefronts as they walk through the outdoor plaza. It’s hypnotizing in a way that makes her forget about how sleepy she feels with the warm sun on her arms and legs, and how tempted she is to tilt her face up to bask and yawn.

She blinks and shakes her head, straightening her spine and clinging to Veronica’s arm to hold herself up. They push through the double doors to their destination and are engulfed in the cool air circulating the darkly lit store. It feels a little like heaven.

“Let’s look at the matching sets.” Veronica nods towards the section of mannequins displayed with ornate trimmings that she wouldn’t necessarily consider underwear. In the most simple of terms, they’re works of art. Multitudes of fabrics that strategically reveal, conceal, and highlight the wearers form. They’re designed for allure, for confidence—not for functionality.

And they’re expensive.

Betty runs her thumb along the edge of a tag adjacent to the deep maroon set Veronica is admiring from every angle. Most of the things in here cost more than several days worth of babysitting.

“Don’t worry about price. Pick something out.”

She looks up with a wince, stomach swooping uncomfortably. “I can’t let you do that, V—”

“Just look around.” Veronica waves her hand. “If you find something you’re interested in, we'll worry about it then.”

Betty’s eyes roll because she knows what that means. “Fine.”

She walks around the racks, the tables, and the mannequins displayed so artfully that it’s sensual and erotic. She runs her fingers over lace, satin, velvet, leather and sighs at the way they feel against her skin.

There’s a set of matching light pink undergarments that Veronica bought for her birthday sitting in the bottom of her drawer already. They’re delicate and feel foreign but so _right_ whenever she puts them on, as rare as it is.

She can’t help but imagine what Jughead would think about this. Would he like her in black? Grey? Or maybe the shade of scarlet seduction she has to hide behind her mother's back. What would he think of her wearing these beneath her cardigans? Of her here—picking something out just for him.

Suddenly, she’s looking at everything in a different light. She wants to please him. _Please Alpha_.

_**Just get one of EVERYTHING!** _

She considers it for half a second before—

“So, are we going to talk about why it smells like you bathed in Jughead’s armpit today?”

“What?” Betty hisses, looking up with a snap of her neck.

Veronica has a few things over her arms, but they’re folded over her chest in such a way that… it’s imposing. Her eyes are intense. Dark. And even though she’s shorter, _smaller_ , Betty’s gaze immediately darts down to the floor.

The inherent need to bend to an Alpha.

“I can smell him _all over you_ , Betty.”

Her palms are damp, her brow, her knees—she fights the urge to squeeze her eyes shut.

“Did you two…”

“No.” Betty shakes her head. “I mean, not today—”

“Not today?” Veronica repeats salaciously, hand darting out and latching onto her shoulder. “What do you mean by that? I feel suspiciously in the dark.”

“I mean, not today. We might have almost kissed in the pool a few weeks ago,” she begins to ramble, finally lifting her head. “He didn’t really get that close to touching me, not really. I mean, it was over my bathing suit. Then Charles showed up—”

“ _What_?” Veronica practically squawks. “I cannot believe my ears. My little girl is growing up.” She raises a hand to her face to wipe away a fake tear.

Betty wrinkles her nose, swatting her hand away. “Oh, shut it.”

“But that does little to explain today’s smell of wet dog.”

“Wet dog?” Something inside her scoffs loudly.

Veronica nods, turning to the racks of satin slips beside them and flicking through to the section of deep jewel tones. “Alphas almost never smell good to one another. Unless you’re true mates, which is incredibly rare on its own, let alone between Alphas. We smell the competition.” She shrugs, pulling out a dark red piece and holding it up for appraisal before slipping it over Betty’s arm. “Now—stop avoiding my question.”

“I’m not,” she almost whines, scratching at her wrist with frantic swipes of her fingernails. “I just—I woke up not feeling well and the _only_ thing that made it better was—was crawling into Jughead’s bed.”

“Not feeling well?” Veronica frowns, looking her over from head to toe before leaning in close. She sniffs a couple times, nose almost in Betty’s neck before she steps back quickly and puts some distance between them. “Show me your wrist.”

“What?” Her heart rate ticks up until she can feel the pulse in her throat as she swallows. “ _Why_?”

“Show. Me.” It’s not quite a command, but the intone is harsh enough that she complies easily and thrusts out her arm for Veronica to grab.

They both look at her wrist, swollen and red above her palm. Betty gapes, feeling like a fish.

“That’s not—it’s just poison ivy or—”

“ _Betty_.”

Her mouth snaps shut, teeth biting into her tongue until she tastes copper.

“You’re going into heat.”

No.

No. No. No. No. _No_.

Impossible.

She shakes her head, snatching her arm back and staring down at the skin that stings and burns and itches and the only thing she imagines might soothe it is Jughead’s tongue—

“I’m just a Beta.”

Veronica sighs, crossing her arms over her chest. “You can tell yourself that all you want, but the fact is you never have been, and are _never_ _going to be,_ just a Beta.”

Her head is spinning, and it feels like the ground might just swallow her up. She drops her arm, resisting the urge to rub her wrist against her shorts. Her hands curl into fists so tightly that her nails press into her palms in a familiar, welcoming sting.

The word is unspoken, but she tastes it on the tip of her tongue underneath the metallic tang.

 _Omega_.

“I’m—I’m not _that_. I can’t be. I’m already seventeen. I’ve had my period. I don’t—” She cuts herself off before the word _want_ slips out, because she can’t bring herself to tell that particular lie. “I’m just not.”

Veronica rolls her eyes. “Sure. And Cheryl’s an Alpha.”

She almost laughs at that. _Almost_.

“Let’s just—just go back to shopping for now. I’ve clearly upset you. Your scent just, like, exploded with sadness there. Let me treat you to something pretty now, _Beta_.” Her tone is both sarcastic and sympathetic at the same time. Calming.

Betty nods, clearing her throat. She feels a little better, stands a little straighter when Veronica smiles at her. “Alright.” She takes Veronica’s outstretched hand and follows her through the store again.

They walk to the far corner where there are more straps and see through lace decorating the mannequins. Betty gravitates to a section of multi-strapped necklines, cut outs galore, and O-ring accents. Everything is straps on straps on straps.

“So,” Veronica drawls, fingers plucking at the tight threads on a pair of fishnets, “are you wanting to pick something out for you or for Jughead?”

“You’re the one who wanted to come here.”

“I know that, but you can’t say you’re not interested in taking something pretty home.”

Betty sighs. “I just feel crazy. Picking out a piece of lingerie with my step-brother in mind? That has to be some kind of fucked up.”

“You’re not related, Betty. You technically share a brother, yes, but you don’t share the same blood. The situation is unusual but not unfounded.” Veronica shrugs, draping a leather skirt and set of stockings over her arm. “Though, admittedly, your family does kind of have a thing for that. If this were _Game of Thrones,_ you’d definitely be a Lannister.”

Her nose crinkles up as she wanders through the displays, examining each item with scrupulous attention. “Honestly, that's just rude. This is obviously a Sansa and Jon situation.”

“Oh, of course. You’re right. They’re all about that secret pining since childhood and forbidden romance.”

She shakes her head on a laugh, but it sends a little pang through her chest. _Truth hurts_ , she muses, before stopping in front of a set of lingerie that has her frozen in place.

It’s a dark, royal blue. The bottoms are lace, high-cut and strappy, leaving large cutouts of skin, and blending seamlessly with the garter that winds another set of straps around the waist. The bralette is much the same, sheer blue lace with multiple straps that curve around and highlight the chest. What really completes the ensemble, though, is the delicate black satin choker. There’s an O-ring in the middle of it, and she hooks her finger under the metal to feel it bite into her skin.

 _ **WANT WANT WANT WANT WANT**_ — _ **NEED**_ —

Her mouth is dry, tongue sticking, and she almost dares to open her mouth and _pant_.

_Long, thin fingers circle her neck, trailing up the side under her jaw until they grasp her chin and tilt her head back back back. She’s looking up at him from between his knees, her palms pressed flat to the floor between the space of her spread legs._

_Jughead dangles the choker from a finger, licking his lower lip. “Do you want this?”_

_She nods helplessly. “Put it on me. Please.”_

_He twirls it, testing the soft satin between his fingers, before he runs it over the curve of her cheek. “I want this for you in leather. Lace. Metal. Rope.” Each word darkens the black of his eyes. “Would you like that, Omega?”_

_“Yes,” Betty breathes. “anything for you, Alpha.”_

_“Good.” His fingers loop around the band at her throat, tickling the back of her neck and brushing the edge of her mating gland as he fastens the metal hooks. It’s tight, constricting, and delightful in the best of ways as she swallows. He lifts her hair from her neck, sweeping it back over her shoulder in such a way that it sends a shiver down her spine. “Because you are_ mine _.”_

_She preens, tilting her head back even more to raise her throat to him. “Yours.”_

_He smirks at that and crooks a finger under her chin, lifting. “Now, come here—”_

“Would you like to try that on, Miss?”

Betty blinks, looking away from the display to the store attendant, who has a pile of Veronica’s things in her arms and a bright, comforting smile on her face.

“Oh, um, yes. I think so.” She fumbles, taking a step back as the woman pulls out a measuring tape and holds it up to Betty’s waist. Her arms lift as it loops around, cinching tight for a moment and then dropping down to her hips.

“Hmmm, alright, this should do,” the attendant says with a nod to herself and pulls open the second drawer below the mannequin to retrieve the garments. “I will ready a room beside Miss Lodge’s,” she says, before turning sharply on her stiletto and heading to the dressing area.

“You’re welcome,” Betty murmurs, lifting a hand to her cheek and placing her palm over searing skin. She felt akin to when she first woke up again, impossible heat building and flowing through her veins like lava. Only this time, she’s _wet_. She groans, rubbing between her brows with a pinch of her fingers.

She needs to find the bathroom.

But first, she reaches up to unclasp the choker from around the mannequin’s neck.

************

Betty had been coerced into riding home in the car after they finished shopping—partly because she kept zoning out and Veronica was worried she would “skate into a ditch and die”.

_As if._

The other part involved a terse conversation about Alphas.

 _“You smell… good, Betty, and you’re going to smell good to_ any _Alpha. They could go into a rut if they’re not on blockers. I just want you to be safe.”_

_“Veronica…”_

_“I know, I know—you’re just a_ Beta _. Humor me, please.” Veronica took her hand, and it was a different look than she had ever seen before flash across her face. “I’d help you with anything, you know that, right? Anything you need. All you have to do is ask.”_

_“I know,” she says quietly. “Thank you.”_

The garage is open when she gets back, and the only way she’s sure it had actually closed behind her is that now Jughead’s motorcycle sits in its spot next to the muscle car FP works on in his spare time.

She stares at it for several minutes, because she knows what this means—he is the only other person home. Everyone else still appears to be out.

Her brain is screaming one thing, her body another, and it feels a bit like it's tearing her in two. She doesn't even want to acknowledge anything to do with succumbing to the heat that's dawning rapidly, but she also wants to run up the stairs two at a time in order to see him.

Despite her calm, even steps as she enters the house, her heart bounds in her chest. Her hands shake with restraint, clutching her purchases tightly.

His scent is strong, lingering more than usual downstairs. Betty is nearly sure she could close her eyes and imagine the path he took even every item he touched along the way, from the trail of his scent alone.

Kicking her shoes off at the base of the stairs, she manages to climb them successfully without tripping over herself. Dropping the bags in her room with a quick toss, she takes the few steps toward Jughead’s open door with finesse.

_There he is._

He’s just standing in the middle of the room.

There’s a white paper bag clutched in his fist, rumpled between his fingers, that she recognizes as the thick wrapping from the pharmacy. His other hand is continually running through his hair, mussing the dark locks relentlessly. Her eyes are drawn to his shoulders—wide and tense and straining the fabric of his t-shirt. His beanie is laying on the floor, like he pulled it off his head and was about to throw it on the bed when he _realized._

Even she can smell it now: the mix of them in the room. She can’t individualize her own scent, just the parts of him, and them, _together_.

It’s sweet, like toasted marshmallows over an open fire.

Which only serves to make her core clench, an unmistakable need swelling in her lower belly, deep in her groin. Her skin burns, an itch she’s desperate to scratch building from her wrist and climbing up her arm, spreading all over like flames. The sound of her own breath is laborious, mouth parted as she wets her lower lip and takes a step forward into the room.

“Jughead.” Her voice trembles in the quiet. “Are you ok?”

He doesn’t answer her, just continues to stare at his bed and where its rumpled covers don’t hide the evidence that she had writhed between the sheets.

“Jug?” She lifts a hand as she takes another step, fingers barely grazing his forearm before his head snaps over to look at her. His eyes are dark, their stormy blue barely visible. His hand catches her tight around the wrist, over the ache of her gland, and she wants to whimper.

In an instant, he forces her backward until she’s pressed against the wall between his dresser and the door. He isn’t quite touching her, except for the hand still wrapped around her wrist, but only mere inches are left between them as she arches against the wall, tipping her chin up to look at him.

His palm slams into the wall by her head, and she jumps at the motion, barely hearing the bag clatter to the floor as goosebumps and hair raise along the length of her arms and neck. She pulls in a shaky breath.

He follows it, bending down and running his nose across the angle of her jaw until his lips are hovering just over her ear.

“You were in my bed, _Omega_.”

Her pupils dilate and everything in her world narrows to a single focus. His breath against her ear and neck sends more heat curling in her belly, adding fuel to the already blazing fire. Her cunt clenches as his tongue barely flicks the lobe of her ear, and she simply forgets how to breathe.

“I was,” she whispers, head tilting as his lips ghost along the length of her neck. Her eyes flutter at the intense desire for his tongue and lips to press against her wrist over the swollen, angry red skin of her scent gland. To lap at the slick building between her legs that she can’t rationally deny anymore. To sink his teeth into the mating gland throbbing at the back of her nape. To taste her for all she’s worth.

 _ **Please**_ , her Omega whimpers, and it’s the first time the voice sounds like her own. The fact that it took _her_ Alpha to bring it out isn't so surprising anymore. 

“Your scent is everywhere,” he growls, lips buzzing against the slope of her shoulder. "It's always been good, but this… it's _irresistible_."

It's a wonder Betty can manage to think at all as he releases her wrist to glide his hand over the curve of her hip. His fingers sweep between the gap of her top and shorts, over bare skin, rough and smooth all at once, eliciting tingles that settle at the base of her spine. She can't help but sway into him.

"Really?"

"Drives me up the wall to be near you, but I can't stop myself. I must be a sadist. You just smell so _sweet_ ," Jughead answers, nuzzling into the crook of her neck. His lips trail back up to her ear as his thumb hooks underneath the waist of her shorts and he tugs her forward.

Her hands grab at his shirt, catching fistfuls at his back, and cling to him as he pins her hips to the wall with his own.

"Like vanilla," he murmurs. "Honeysuckle. And…" he pauses, inhaling against her skin, and she feels the tremble that courses through him. "The air after it rains. It's divine. _Tempting_."

She's practically purring against him, basking in the wealth of his words. Her head tilts, almost resting on her own shoulder. "I've always smelled like that?"

"I used to think it was just your perfume, but it's _you_. And fuck if the dial didn't turn up today. Christ. This is all I ever want to smell."

Her teeth sink into her bottom lip, eyes fluttering as he leans into her with more of his weight. It feels like heaven: his hips, his chest, the flat of his stomach molding to her own. She wants him on top of her, pushing her into his mattress as he sinks into her sopping cunt—

"Please. Touch me. Somewhere— _anywhere_. I'll burn alive if you don't."

Jughead's lips are more insistent at her neck, tongue and teeth scraping over skin, as his hand slides from the wall to yank the collar of her shirt down over her shoulder. His fingers dig in at her hip, pulling her into him while pushing a thigh between her own, and she sighs. His cock is hard against her hip, and even through two layers of denim, she can _feel_ him, can feel how much he wants her. And she’s sure that she’s about to soak straight through her shorts.

Hiking a knee up, she presses closer, rocking her hips, arching into him, but it isn’t enough.

_**Climb him LIKE. A. TREE.** _

She’s grabbing a handful of his shirt tight in her fist, arm curling around his neck as she rises to her tip-toes and hooks a leg around his hip. She’s whining now, his lips sucking a bruise above her collarbone that does nothing but spur her on. His fingers wedge between them, sliding under the waist of her shorts and between the cotton of her plain (so, so plain) underwear and her skin.

“Like this?” he asks, words clipped with restraint, fingers sliding through neatly trimmed hair down to cup her cunt. His nostrils flare against her neck as he inhales, and she can feel the sharp points of his teeth grazing over the sensitive skin he’d just worked over.

“No, no, no,” Betty gasps, scrambling against him. “ _More_.”

His breath fans over her neck as his fingers trace up and down her slit, slick coating the digits before he even slides through her folds.

“Fuck,” he growls, thumb swiping up over her throbbing clit and forcing her head to knock back into the wall as she moans. “You’re—you’re— _fuck_ —” he groans, shoulders shaking beneath her grasp.

And then his hand is gone and she wants to scream, her fingernails clawing at his neck and back before she can register that he’s lifted her off her feet. Her back hits the bed in less than two steps, bouncing from the force he tossed her with. But before she can gripe at it, any of it, he’s on top of her again, between her legs, hips slotted to her own. Her knees curl up until her toes are barely touching the bed, and then he’s _rutting_ against her, his nose in her neck, hands up her shirt and under her bra. His weight settles overtop of her, and she sinks into the bed, a sense of comfort simmering under her skin like a cool balm.

His lips pepper up her throat and jaw, trembling, as his hands roam the curves of her breasts and his thumbs find the hard peaks of her nipples. He rolls his thumbs over them in lazy circles, until she’s pushing her chest against his hands for more. His teeth nip up to her lips, catching her bottom lip, pulling it from her own gnawing. Jughead sucks lightly before releasing and then swipes his tongue over the plump, swollen curve.

Betty can taste him, can taste the addition of chocolate on his breath like he’d stopped for a milkshake on the way home from the pharmacy. Underneath that he tastes heady—spicy—in a comforting way without the burn on her tongue, an edge of sweetness that keeps drawing her back for more.

She tilts her head up to connect their lips, fingers scratching up through the hair at the back of his neck and scalp and then grabbing hold of the thick, dark locks to pull him in. She arches into him. His lips. His hands. His hips. It’s all so good but still _not enough_.

“Juggie,” she pants into his mouth, her hands tightening in his hair and tugging as her hips rock up against the hard line of his cock. Her core quivers, tightening, curling, winding. “I need you.”

_**Need Alpha. He’ll take care of us.** _

His tongue swipes against her upper lip before licking into her mouth, his hum buzzing through her skull all the way down to her toes. He pinches her nipples between his fingers, twisting upwards, and pulling a mewl from her throat. “Believe me, I can smell how much you need me,” he grunts, lips moving over her own like he’s just as desperate.

“Then help me,” she whines. Betty knows she sounds pathetic, but she doesn't care as she paws at his hands on her chest. “I need to come.”

“You need my knot,” he growls suddenly, tone rough, sharp, absolutely _feral_.

“Yes,” Betty chokes, nodding her head as their noses bump. She feels tears brimming at the corners of her eyes, because _yes_ , that is absolutely what she needs. It burns her throat all the way down, and she pushes and pulls at his hands, wanting them everywhere all at once. “P—please. I need your knot, _Alpha_.”

Grinding hard against her, his breath huffs over her lips before he drops his head into her neck, and his hands slide from her breasts to rest on the curve of her waist. He squeezes, shoulders broad and tense, and she’s sorely tempted to bite into the corded muscle of his neck, tongue and teeth so close to his gland that it causes her jaw to ache.

But he stills, catching his breath as he holds himself above her, barely pressing her into the mattress anymore. His scent mingles with something that tastes bitter in the back of her throat. There’s something _wrong_ , and the first thought she has is that it’s _her_. She must have done something to upset him.

“Jug?”

He doesn’t answer, only turns his nose away, fingers going slack against her skin as though he doesn’t even want to touch her anymore.

Shying away, she turns her head to the side and her hands fall to grip at the duvet. “Did I… do something wrong?”

Jughead’s still quiet, and she feels the tears in her eyes well up further, her chest exploding like a firework in the rain.

_**We’ve upset Alpha?** _

She holds the whine in, biting into her lip and sucking it between her teeth. Just as she begins to let her legs fall from around his waist, his hand flies up to keep them there, fingers curling around the back of her thigh and hiking her leg up even higher.

“No.” He shakes his head, lips brushing the gland at her nape. His tongue flicks out, licking a soothing stripe up over the skin and it stomps down the anxiety building in her chest. “You haven’t upset me, okay?”

She nods after a moment, hands creeping back up to curl around his forearms. “Then what—”

“I just—” Jughead sighs, and it almost sounds like a sob. “I just can’t help but think this is my fault.”

“What is your fault?”

“ _This_. You presenting. Your—your heat coming in.” He drops his forehead to rest against her shoulder and she drags a hand up to rake through his hair. “I mean, would we be doing this if it wasn’t? Would we be doing this at all if I had remembered to get my prescription refilled on time?”

Betty blinks up at the ceiling, counts ten of the textured patterns painted across the stark white, and then, tightens her hand in his hair to drag his head up so they can actually look at each other.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” she hisses as he drinks in the anger that settles over her features in sharp lines.

She doesn't miss the way his eyes glaze, and his teeth grit before his mouth turns down in a frown.

“Betty, we’re practically related—as if that’s not a moral conundrum on it’s own—it just seems like a product of compulsion, not election."

The words hit her like a wave, pulling her under until foam and salt sting at every little wound. And then she _fights_ , because the universe is not a stagnant pool, waiting in static silence. _Don't be afraid_ —of the unknown, of the darkness, of the world that is so much bigger than either of them.

"You're putting words in my mouth." She shakes her head. "You're _not_ the first Alpha I've come across today—"

" _What_?" Jughead growls, eyes narrowing in on her face and neck. "Who—" he takes a breath in and recognition flashes over his face. "Veronica."

"Yes," she huffs. "I'm perfectly capable of making my own decisions. I don't know if I could say the same thing tomorrow, but right now it's me. Just like I wanted you to touch me in the pool. Like I've wanted you to touch me for _years_."

Her chest splits open, raw and flayed, and her heart beats before his eyes in a slow tempo making the seconds drag on. More words threaten to spill from her lips, confessions of the same vein, and the only regrets that linger are consequences of personal conviction, of believing that they shouldn't because of who their parents are.

Time has been lost to them, and the wispy parts of her that feel like flying in his presence want to make up for that tenfold.

"Really?" he asks quietly, eyes turning soft as they search her own. "I always thought I'd be the pauper in your fairy tale."

Fingers petting through his hair, Betty smooths a palm down his cheek and draws him in until their noses bump together. "You're an idiot," she sighs, "but so am I. Now kiss me, please."

He complies, tilting his face down to meet her upturned lips. It's the shiver tracking down her spine with unending slowness that has her lips parting for him, their breath mingling as they draw closer and closer together.

The fire that singes at the edge of her consciousness smells of smoke and wood—tastes like Jughead on her tongue. She can feel its tendrils licking along her spine, ready to unfurl with an intensity that frightens her.

There will be no going back from this. From the inevitable.

"I've got you," Jughead whispers against her lips, his hand tilting her chin up, thumb brushing away the tears rolling down her cheeks.

As much as she wants him inside her, wants him around her—holding, petting, kissing—she just wants to _feel_. To feel him.

"I want you, Juggie."

"I don't think I'll ever tire of hearing you say that." He grins boyishly, pecking at the corner of her mouth and then again, until he's peppering kisses over her jaw and throat. She tilts her head back in his grasp, presenting more fully for him to do as he pleases with her. His lips burn delightfully all the way across her already heated skin. "I want you, too, Betty."

His voice rumbles through her chest, gravelly and low, breath and lips at her ear, and she takes a slow breath in to control the rapid _thumpthumpthump_ against her ribs. There are a million things she wants to say—to do—but there's something that seems much more pressing.

"I need you to take me away from here. Tonight."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to be continued...
> 
> tumblr is [@lilibug--xx](https://lilibug--xx.tumblr.com)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ♡♡♡♡♡♡ pov shift to our boy for a hot second
> 
> beta (of which I would be a sad thing without) continues by the bestest best [@bettycreeper](https://bettycreeper.tumblr.com) & [@bugggghead](https://bugggghead.tumblr.com)

_"Hello?"_

_"Veronica. It's Jughead."_

_"You know all cell phones have caller ID, right?"_

_His fingers close over the bridge of his nose, pinching lightly as a sigh ripples from his throat. "I need a favor."_

_She's quiet for a moment. "Is Betty alright?"_

_"Yeah, she is. She just_ — _we can't be here when Alice gets home. You know how she is."_

_"Say no more. That woman is a fire breathing hellhound, and you need a place to stay."_

_He runs a hand through his hair. "Preferably somewhere Alice doesn't know about. Some cash, too."_

_"Daddy has a cabin up north, about an hour up I-95. I'll text you the address and access code for the security system. You just need to come get the key, and I'll put together a little package for you."_

_"Thank you. I really appreciate it."_

_"Just promise me one thing, Jughead. Promise me that you'll take care of her."_

_"Always," he replies without hesitation._

********

They pack one bag each.

Jughead throws a couple of things from the dresser into his messenger bag, not paying much attention to the specifics. Shirt, pants, boxers—he’s not going to need most of it anyway.

He picks up the flannel that Betty had worn around her waist. It must have slipped loose at some point in their frantic movements. It's his favorite, worn thin and nearly threadbare. Bringing it up to his nose, he inhales and lets her scent fill his lungs like she is all the air he would ever need.

It smells like him, too. Which certainly makes his jeans too-tight with the knowledge that she was going around like this today—with him all over her. He wants nothing more than for everyone to know she is his.

_But is she?_

Sweet words had spilled from her lips like honey, devilish legs wrapped about his waist as her fingers touched places he had only dreamt about for far too long. The sounds that fell from her throat were enticing, better than he could ever hope to conjure in his own mind. Her skin felt like silk beneath his fingers, her lips soft and firm all at once.

There was a swell of heat under her skin, coloring her cheeks and chest a rosy hue that only served to make him curious about how far down it spread. To the tops of her breasts—darkening the dusty rose of her nipples—

He shoves the flannel in the bag along with his phone charger, tugging at the collar of his t-shirt then throwing his beanie on, already feeling warm at the back of his neck.

An air of hesitancy swirls in his gut, and he’d like to think it’s akin to chivalry—wanting nothing more than to blame himself for Betty's presentation. He had known for days that the rattling bottle of his blockers was growing lighter, but he continued to push the trip to the pharmacy off to the next day, and then the next, until he had swallowed the last pill in a sleepy haze, going back to bed after a restless night of tossing and turning.

Today, the empty bottle mocks him mercilessly for his plight.

But the answer is not so simple. No matter if he blamed himself for their circumstances or not, it wasn't as if he really missed enough pills to force a heat upon her. She is and always was... destined to be an Omega.

_**Our Omega.** _

Jughead grits his teeth, tamping down the primal echo in the back of his mind, but it hangs around, claws sinking into his shoulders and pulling them taut as he straightens up with the new bottle of pills in his palm. They’re white, oblong, and etched with his prescribed dosage. Nothing special, but he resents them more than anything else in his life.

He just feels so _angry_ all the time, like a tightly wound coil ready to snap at the smallest touch.

Things would be easier if he wasn’t an Alpha.

Courtesy of his temper, he’s already close to the upper limits of the drug’s safe levels. The fact that Betty has always smelled so sweet hasn’t helped—her close proximity without even having to touch him set him on edge.

She makes it _worse_ , when he’s fairly sure an Omega is supposed to make things _better_.

He’s not sure if these little white pills are going to do a thing when he’s faced with her in heat. The smell of her is already going to haunt him until the end of his days. He can’t imagine what it will be like come tomorrow—a plague upon his soul—but more than likely, she’ll throw him into rut.

Jughead sighs, popping a pill into his mouth to swallow it dry. He would never forgive himself if he didn’t at least try.

Shoving the bottle in the bag, he zips it closed before slinging the strap over his head and glancing at his phone. He debates telling Archie, but then resists—dude can’t keep a secret to save his life. The redhead had eventually told him who his newest flame is, and to say he was shocked would have been a lie.

He steps into the hallway, closing the door behind him.

Betty’s door is still open. He stands at the doorway, eyes roaming over pinks, florals, soft blues, until he finds her sitting on the seat below her arched window. Her chin is tucked against her knees, an arm wrapped around her legs.

The sun is right behind her, casting a golden halo of light around the crown of her head, and she turns toward him before he has a chance to speak.

“Are we ready?” She moves to stand in a rush, fumbling over her feet in the process.

He’s across the room in a second, hands curling over her upper arms to steady her.

“Are _you_ ready?” Jughead tips her downturned chin up with his finger until he’s gazing into the brilliantly hued green of her irises. Her pupils are blown wide, lips parting as she takes in a breath.

He wouldn’t be him if he didn’t offer her a way out at every opportunity.

“Yes,” Betty says quietly. “I am.”

His fingers touch her jaw, thumb brushing the curve of her lower lip to quell its tremble. He wants to sink his teeth into the plump flesh until it’s tender, swollen—until she’s begging for his lips along her throat, down her chest, beneath the jut of her hip. He wants to lap at the gland at her nape, her wrist, her cunt—

He makes a low sound in his throat and her eyes drop to his lips before darting back up. “We haven’t even discussed the specifics.”

“I don’t think I’ll be in the mood for much talking tomorrow.”

“Precisely why we need to discuss it sooner rather than later.”

“Juggie…” She tilts her face into his touch. “I want you to help me through my heat.” Her eyes flutter the littlest bit, fingers reaching up to pull on the hem of his shirt, stepping closer to him. “I want you to fuck me. There isn’t anything else to discuss.”

His dick literally _twitches_.

“What about our parents? _Charles_ —”

“S hut. Up.” She’s practically growling at him and he really shouldn’t be as turned on as he is. “They’ll get over themselves. It’s only weird if we make it weird.”

Jughead blinks, finding them nose-to-nose and he wonders when she dragged him down by the collar. Her eyes are wild, her cheek leaning into his hand as her breath blows over his lips in a shaky exhale.

He can’t help but swipe his tongue over his lip. Though it barely brushes her own, he gets the smallest taste of her that flourishes into _want_. Now that Jughead knows what she feels like underneath him, he’s sure he could never forget—and he never wants to.

His hand slides into her loose hair, fingers lifting to touch the dip in her waist where his palm fits perfectly. Her head tilts back a fraction and he gives chase, stepping closer to press his lips fully against her own.

It’s soft, unhurried, deliberate—it’s everything they could never allow before. He wonders if he’s imagining how fragile it all feels: the slow slip-slide of their tongues, the lightning-sharp friction of their lips, and how the intensity—the _intimacy_ —is brittle.

It could shatter.

It could break.

He already knows he won’t let it.

********

Veronica answers the door to the Pembrooke in a dark silk robe, wine glass between her fingers, and one eyebrow already arched. He has a strong inclination to pull Betty closer into his side.

His eyes say _**mine,**_ but his mouth says, “Contributing to the underage drinking crisis, I see.”

“Cute, Mr. Pragmatic.” Veronica wrinkles her nose. “I guess this means you don’t want the bottle of champagne I included in your little gift basket.”

“No, no—” Betty squeezes his arm, leaning forward. “We—we’ll take it. Where is it?”

“It’s in the kitchen.” Veronica eyes her up and down and he has to grit his teeth. “Are you… okay, B?”

“Just a little sweaty.” She sounds breathless. “Tired.”

He frowns, tugging gently on a wavy strand of her hair. As much as he likes it when her hair is down, it's unusual for her to be out of the house without a ponytail—indicative of just how off-kilter she really is. “You need to rest.”

“I’ll be able to once we get to the cabin, right?”

“Of course,” Jughead murmurs into her hair, lips pressing against her warm forehead. “If Veronica would be a doll and get us the key, we could be on our way.”

“I’ll fetch it for you, _but_ I’ll have you know that I expect everything in the cabin to be intact when you’re finished.”

_**No promises**_.

“Of course,” Betty chirps, her face tilting up with a pointed look.

He bites the inside of his cheek, swallowing all the filthy words that he would like to speak aloud. Instead, he nods, unable to look away from her piercing gaze. He can feel the heat radiating from her skin and the back of his own neck; he can feel a bead of sweat gathering to roll between the dip of his shoulders.

"Hurry," he mumbles under his breath, fingers circling around Betty tighter.

Veronica's heels clack a bit harder against the posh tile, and she ushers them into the foyer with a flick of her fingers rolling over her turned shoulder. "I'll be just a moment. Stay right there and don't _touch_ anything. Daddy has a sharp nose, and I'd rather not explain this to him."

He nods, glancing up to watch her sashay across the living room. When she disappears through the archway to the kitchen, Betty places a hand on his back under the slip of his shirt. Her fingers are warm and small, the press of her nails into his flesh is fleeting but sharp.

He nearly cracks his neck turning his head so quickly.

"I'm so hot, Jug." She sighs, leaning more heavily on him. "And my stomach is _cramping_."

His mouth dips into a frown, and he tucks his arm around her shoulders, pressing her into his side. He tries not to think about how perfectly she fits against him or how her breath feels over his shoulder, even through the cotton of his shirt.

"I know." He soothes a hand over the length of her arm, fingers trailing over the warm skin pebbled with goose flesh. "I wish I could say it gets better, but tomorrow is going to be a whole new ballgame."

Betty fidgets, fingers slipping down to run against the waist of his jeans. He feels the tremble in her jaw as she rests it on his bicep.

"Have you done this before?"

He suddenly feels much warmer himself. "No— _No_. I haven't. I've just… read a lot on the topic."

"Oh," she breathes. "I'm—I can't help but be glad about that. The thought of you all to myself is… so calming."

Jughead pulls her even closer, his lips finding her temple. He struggles with the words that bubble and froth in his throat, thick like oil. The voice at the back of his mind is growling with wide jaws, trying to claw its way to the front.

"You don't know how happy it makes _me_ to be your first."

" _Alpha_ —" She leans up on her tip-toes and noses her way under his chin. "I want—"

A muffled noise escapes her throat as her mouth latches on the space above his collarbone, shirt and skin trapped between her lips, teeth grazing just enough to make him wince.

He pets down her head and shoulders with soothing strokes as she sucks at his skin. It's the veritable closeness, the feel of her heartbeat echoing in his chest, that makes him want to swing her over his shoulder like a caveman. Before he can fully entertain the thought, he hears the clack of Veronica's heels start again, and he reluctantly peels her away.

Her eyes glitter as she looks up at him, pupils blown to the rim, and he wonders if she's about to _cry_.

His chest aches. His Alpha howls.

"—here we go, darlings. Don't go and use everything in one night now."

Unable to look away from Betty, her lower lip trembling as her fingers dig into the juts of his hips, he takes the handle of the basket from Veronica’s outstretched arm in a rush. He’s not sure they’ll even have the time to look in it, to be honest. “Thanks. You can forget we were here now.” He turns them both toward the door until he can cover Betty completely.

She leans back into his chest as he reaches for the doorknob, her soft sigh ringing in his ears like a siren's song.

It’s difficult—to breathe, to think, _to be_ —when his body aches for her in ways he’s never known. All the want to protect, to feel, to _love_ —it’s all he can see.

But a perverse thought slithers forth from the back of his mind, one that hisses he will never be good enough for her. Even the idea of her ever leaving, of leaving _him_ , has his stomach in his throat. His hand clenches into a fist, until his knuckles turn white, until he can feel the metal bite at his fingers.

A growl echoes against the side of his skull, like someone smacked him in the head.

_**Get. It. Together.** _

Betty’s hand covers his over the doorknob, her fingers warm and comforting like a blanket wrapped around his shoulders.

“Juggie,” she whispers, her head tilting up to glance at him, “stop thinking so loudly.”

Her voice carries everything he unintentionally seeks: attention, kindness, empathy. It makes his shoulders relax, and he can't help it when the corner of his lip twitches up. "Sorry, bad habits."

But he can't quite turn everything off. Not when Betty is so close, her fingers tugging gently at his shirt, then his wrist. Not when she runs a hand through her hair and tucks a little bit behind her ear, the scent so strong he can smell the shampoo mingling delightfully with her natural chemistry. Not when she places a kiss to the corner of his mouth, his eyes tracking the motion of her tongue as it darts out to wet her lower lip before her teeth sink into it. Not when—

Jughead blinks. They're outside now and he feels like a ghost reunited with a host, from walking through walls and doors to a permeance only she brings about.

He doesn't bother looking back as she places the motorcycle helmet in his hand, not when he has so much to look forward to.

********

The ride feels longer than it is, an hour at best. The sun is still dipping toward the horizon, not yet bathing them in the orange glow of dusk.

They had stopped at Pop's diner for a few of those minutes, picking up a quick burger to eat out on the back steps. Betty perked up after a milkshake, the sugar and cold ice-cream visibly cooling her heated cheeks just a little.

He found it incredibly hard to ignore the sounds of satisfaction dripping from her lips. She tasted like strawberry.

When they get to the cabin, they have to walk up the gravel drive, and Jughead is very nearly tempted to just pick Betty up and carry her the rest of the way. His Alpha is roaring for it, the burning sensation of claws digging into his shoulders under the restraint. She wouldn't have it anyway, of course—stubborn until the last of her freewill allows.

He swallows down the lump in his throat.

It's surprisingly cool once they get inside, and he's not sure why he expected anything less. Hiram Lodge likely pays little attention to the cost of heating or cooling a place he visits maybe once or twice a year. He probably only cares that it is ready for occupancy should the need arise.

It's when the door clicks shut and he slides the deadbolt into place that things lose their shiny glimmer.

Betty slips her backpack off, careful to set it down on the end table closest to her. The contents of the gift basket she had gingerly stuffed inside clink together in the silence. She toes off her Converse, pink socks a shock of bright against the dark floor.

His messenger bag drops at his feet, where he kicks his boots off to the side and out of the way. Soon enough they're just staring at each other.

They've spent very little time alone, all things considered. There has always been an open door, a friend, a sibling, a parent— _someone_ to act as that wall between them. But they shattered it this afternoon, and there's no one around to build it back up again.

Jughead takes a step forward, eyes zeroing in on the subtle intake of her breath, the way her chest hitches up in anticipation.

_**Omega**_ , his Alpha purrs, settling into an easy contentment as he steps into her space.

Her head tilts back automatically, gaze trained on him as her lips part, and he can still smell the strawberry on her breath. "What do we do now?"

"Whatever you want."

He has half a mind to put her to bed, tuck her in, and let her sleep till morning. She'll need the rest.

"I want _you_ ," Betty says in a rush, like she can't keep the words down any longer.

Her fingers lift to twist in his shirt, her wrist pressing against his chest. It's the most subtle contact, but it makes his palms sweat and heart rate tick up anyway. Jughead can feel the heat of her gland through the fabric, and his wrist and neck burn in response.

It'd be a lie to say his dick hasn't been at least half-hard ever since he came home this afternoon,and as he breathes her in, it's like every part of him comes alive in her presence.

He can't help it when his thumb reaches up to swipe along her lower lip, her mouth parting instantly for him. He hooks her chin in his grasp, tilting her head just so, fingers brushing her hair over her shoulder so that he can see the edges of her mating gland just behind her ear.

"How am I supposed to say no to that?"

"You don't." Betty’s hand flattens against his chest, until she can undoubtedly feel the steady beat of his heart. "I want you now. I want to feel you, to feel _something_ , so I know that this isn't just my heat. Because it isn't."

Jughead drags her closer, forcing her to her toes as he leans in to brush his nose against hers. "I can help, but I can't fuck you yet."

Her pout brushes against his lips, her hand snaking up to the back of his neck to slip her fingers under his beanie and tangle them through his hair. "Why not?"

He thought it might feel strange to be so close to her, to touch so willingly, but it isn't. It feels familiar in all the ways it shouldn't.

He inhales deeply, tongue flicking out against her lips. "Because if I fuck you, I'll knot you. And I want to do that for the first time when you're in heat."

She pushes forward, their lips connecting roughly. They push and pull, back and forth—an arm sliding around her waist, fingers scratching at his scalp—until they've walked themselves to the couch so Jughead can press her against it. Her back bows as he leans over her, slotting his knee between her thighs.

"I'm _in_ heat," she rasps between the hurried motions of their mouths.

"No." Jughead growls and pushes his thigh up into her groin. He grabs a handful of her hair, of her hip, and pulls her down as he grinds up against her. "Not yet, but you're so close," he groans, teeth catching on her lower lip and tugging until she emits a whine. "I can smell it—underneath _you_. It's already driving me crazy."

She clenches her thighs and rocks into him, the jerk of her hips so satisfying as she moans low in her throat. Her head tilts back even more, and he pulls away from her mouth to suck on the pulse in her neck. His teeth scrape over sensitive skin as he searches for the spot that makes her breathless.

Betty keens beneath him, fingers clenching tightly in his hair to tug him closer as he nears her gland.

He hesitates before licking a wide stripe over the fragile skin.

_**Bite her. Claim her.** _

Fighting the pull of his Alpha _hurts_ as he resists the urge to sink his teeth into her gland. He wants her to be _his,_ and he wants the world to know it. But it's too much too soon. Jughead realizes he needs to let her breathe first.

" _Jug_."

Her voice takes on an edge that makes every hair on his body stand on end, the tone so wanton that he can nearly taste how syrupy sweet her scent has turned. It's a reflex, the sharp points of his canines grazing the skin of her gland. Instinct. She all but falls apart in his hold.

"Please, please, please." Betty’s words begin to slur together as she pulls and tugs on his hair, his shoulders, anything to tether her to the reality of the moment. "Touch me."

It's almost a relief to slide his hand down the slope of her neck. She trembles as his thumb presses into the divot above her collarbone. He could easily wrap his hand around her throat and cover most of it—he _wants_ to. To see her gasping beneath the strength of his hold—it feels feral, and he can't wait to watch her entire body convulse.

Jughead presses a kiss to her gland, then a soothing lick, before trailing away to catch her earlobe between his teeth. His thumb draws a line down her chest, hooking in the top of her shirt. He tugs and Betty jerks forward.

He drags the material of her shirt down farther, until he can glance at the freckles that dot the tops of her breasts from time spent in her bathing suit over the summer. He wants to kiss every inch, every imperfection. His thumb swipes over the swell of her chest, and her breath stutters against his neck in a way that sends sparks skittering along every nerve, igniting embers to flame.

“Here?” He blows into the curve of her ear, running his thumb along the edge of her bra.

“No,” she breathes after a beat. “But this is nice, too.”

“Nice?” Jughead’s lips stretch into a grin. “You won’t be saying that tomorrow.”

“I’m sure I’m going to sound _very_ delightful tomorrow, and I apologize in advance.”

“Nothing to apologize for,” he murmurs, fingers drifting away from her hair and her shirt. “Let’s go to the bedroom.”

Betty sounds so tired when she says, “Do we have to?”

It makes him frown and he pulls back from her neck to look at her, fingers tilting her chin up to look him in the eye. “Yes, that way you can just lay back and relax.”

She huffs, blowing a breath through pursed lips.

Something in his chest rumbles in delight, basking in the strength of her flame. There’s a tick in his jaw as he clenches back a snarl, his shoulders stretching tightly beneath the cage of his skin. He almost feels like pacing in a circle.

“Don’t make me order you there, _Omega_.”

She doesn’t miss a beat as her eyelids flutter lazily, teeth dragging over her swollen lower lip. “Maybe that’s what I want.”

To say that doesn’t make his dick impossibly harder would be a lie.

“Bedroom. _Now_ ,” he barks out, tone low and gravely.

Her back straightens, chin trembling in his hand as she extracts her hands from his shoulders,but it’s her sigh of relief, of _gratitude_ , that has him watching her so intensely. His fingers drop when she turns to lead him up the wooden staircase to the upper level of the cabin. He casts one look at their bags on the floor before reaching up to pull off his beanie, dropping it on top of them then following her into the bedroom.

He won't need to hide, not from her.

Jughead doesn’t bother closing the door, just flips the light switch back off before crossing the room to flick on the bedside lamp instead. It’s duller, and when he opens the curtains to the window, the light combination casts a dreamy glow across the bedspread.

He looks down at the dresser, bringing his hands up as he removes each of his rings in turn, to set them in a neat row along the top. “I want you to take off your clothes and kneel, facing the bed for me.”

“On the floor?” Betty questions, an eyebrow raising up sharply before crossing her arms to lift her shirt over her head. It seems like it exhausts her.

“On the floor.”

She peels off her socks next, then unbuttons her shorts to shimmy them down her legs. She takes a couple of steps forward and kneels in front of the bed. He can see the way she takes in a breath, ribs expanding beneath her skin and pushing her chest up. She rests back on her heels and clasps her hands over her knees.

Jughead reaches up to grab the back collar of his own shirt, following her same pattern of removal until he’s left in his boxers. The room is warm despite the air conditioning, but he can still see goosebumps rising along her arms as he moves to stand behind her. His gaze glides over the slope of her shoulders, the curve of the thighs, the clench of her fingers. He brushes a section of hair back from her shoulder, where he hooks his thumb under the strap of her pastel blue bra. He draws a little circle into her skin and she sighs prettily.

“Hold your wrist up.”

She does after a beat, and he grasps her palm in his hand, raising her arm high above her head. He plucks at the hair tie on her wrist, letting it snap against her skin, before tugging it off to transfer to his own wrist. Leaning in, Jughead presses his nose to her scent gland, the pink skin fragile and thin, and he breathes in deeply.

What he smelled in his room— _her_ —is amplified so much more now, just a few hours later. He closes his eyes, desperate to pick out each individual note which has haunted him for so long, and he imagines this is what Amortentia might smell like to him. Her scent is soft but strong all the same, and he realizes what he thought was vanilla earlier is actually lignin. He almost sighs. The image of her licking her thumb and turning the page in an old book conjures itself like a smoky daydream he could lose himself in for hours.

Jughead blows gently before pressing his lips to her wrist. He lets his teeth graze the sensitive skin until she shudders, arm jolting in his grasp. Her fingers slide down the side of his face as he pulls back, her arm easing back down.

He runs his fingers through her hair, root to tip, combing the sides and pulling her hair back.

"Sometimes, I don't quite know what to think when your hair isn't up."

Betty hums, tilting her head with the motion of his fingers. Her shoulders begin to relax.

"It's such a Betty Cooper staple. You don't know how many times I've thought about wrapping my hand around it to do more than just tug."

He can see the way she breathes in, can feel it, as the air in the room continues to change with the building intensity.

"Any examples you'd care to elaborate on?"

Jughead gathers her hair in his fist, pulling and smoothing the subtle waves against her head. "Guiding your mouth on my cock. Tilting your head back until all you can see is the ceiling as you ride me. Pulling it until your back bows as I fuck you from behind."

He can hear her smile as she says, "My, what a gentlemanly step-brother you are."

"The best," he quips, pulling the hair tie from his wrist to twist her hair into the beloved ponytail. He pulls her hair tight before tugging on the end, prompting her to stand. "I've got a couple more secrets I should probably share."

Betty rises to her feet gingerly, and he steadies her with his hands at her waist. It feels otherworldly when she looks over her shoulder at him, pupils stretched until only a rim of green resides at the edges. She looks at him, and he feels seen for all he's worth—beyond that of her Alpha.

"Nothing haunts you more than the things you wished you'd said."

He makes a sound somewhere between a grunt and groan, urging her to turn until she pivots to face him. "Like I don't know that already. My entire life is a sin and I'm going straight to hell."

She tips her head and raises her arms up behind her back. "Hate to break it to you, Jones, but I'm right there beside you." Her tone drops into sultry and his brain nearly short circuits as she reaches up and pulls the straps of her bra down her arms and then lets it drop from her fingers to the floor.

The flush from her cheeks dips all the way down to the tops of her breasts, and he thinks she’s never looked more beautiful.

"Jesus." He can't help himself, hooking an arm around her waist and pulling her in close. Her hands find purchase along his neck, fingers grazing the edges of his gland. He shudders as Betty rises up to her tip-toes, pebbled nipples dragging along his chest, and he _almost_ loses it.

_**Pick her up and m a t e**_.

He has to bite his tongue.

"Tell me," she prompts, lips fluttering at his ear. Her skin is so warm, pressed against his, her mouth like a brand against the side of his neck.

Jughead uncurls his arm from around her only to place both his palms in the dip of her waist. He lifts her off her feet, her breathless gasp like that of raw honey—robust and sweet. He takes one step forward, then tosses her on the bed, her squeal quirking his lips up in a grin as she bounces onto her elbows.

"Your tits look great like that."

She kicks at him, but he grabs her ankle before she connects with his chest.

His grin feels sharp, canines pricking his lower lip as he yanks on her ankle. Her body slides down the bedspread like she weighs nothing.

"Didn't I say that you were playing a dangerous game, once upon a time?"

Betty sighs, relaxing into his hold, "And even still, I have yet to see the big bad wolf."

He holds her foot in his palm, the fingers of his free hand drifting up the length of her ankle and calf in slow, wispy movements. "You will," he says pointedly, because he can feel it at the back of his mind. No matter how much his blockers dull his senses, no matter how much they claim to tame aggression, there isn't much they can do to stop a rut when there is such a pretty little Omega spread out deliciously in front of him.

Letting her foot drop, Jughead leans over her on the bed, sliding his knee between her thighs. He rests his palms on either side of her head and watches as she grasps at the sheets, her toes barely able to skim the floor.

She's beautiful like this: hair gathered at the crown of her head, ponytail fanning out in soft cornsilk waves, cheeks flushed, lips swollen. Her eyes are wide and focused on him so reverently, waiting for whatever's next.

"Tell me," Betty says again, her stubborn curiosity bleeding out.

His hand cups her cheek, tipping her head up so he can easily bring their lips together. Tender isn't the right word, but he fails to find another when he licks into her mouth, tasting the sound she makes at the back of her throat—it's addicting.

He could come up with an entire litany of words, verses, passages, pages, _novels_ , on what these moments mean to him, that she would share this, any of this, with him.

Gatsby was right when he said that " _when he kissed this girl, and forever wed his unutterable visions to her perishable breath, his mind would never romp again like the mind of god."_

Jughead decides he'll share himself with her, too.

Pulling away from her mouth can only be likened to torture when combined with the small whine she emits. He presses a kiss to the side of her jaw, her neck, her collarbone, continuing down.

"For such a picture perfect white picket fence our parents bought, you want to know what's a shame?"

Her fingers drift through his hair as he hovers between her breasts. She almost closes her eyes. "Hmm?"

"The walls are pretty thin." Jughead can only smirk as he draws a circle with his tongue on the skin above her navel.

She blinks at him, a frown pushing her lips down.

He presses a kiss just below the curve of her belly, dipping down until he reaches her underwear, teeth gliding over dainty lace edge. Straightening up, he rests his hands on either of her knees slotted around his thigh.

"Although, it doesn't _really_ matter." Jughead shrugs, pushing her legs open wider. "Since all Alphas have sharp hearing, but since my room is right on the other side of yours, I could hear a pin drop if I listened for it."

She raises up on her elbows just as he sits up on his knees.

"What exactly are you saying?"

"I'm saying that I've been dreaming about burying myself in your cunt for far longer than appropriate and hearing you touch yourself really hasn’t helped."

Her jaw slackens just a touch, fingers grabbing fistfuls of the bedspread as the red coloring her cheeks deepens.

"You could _hear_ me?"

He breathes out a laugh, pulling to scoot her down the bed another inch or so, until he can guide her legs to hook over his shoulders. "Every moan and every movement. It's no wonder I had to up my blockers every other month."

Leaning in, he can smell her arousal, her mild embarrassment, as she drops back to lay flat against the bed.

“That's—you should have _said_ something."

"Would you have stopped?"

She doesn't say anything, and when he looks up the length of her body, she's chewing on her lip.

"Jug—” His name dies on her tongue as he leans into the apex of her thighs.

First, the warmth of his breath makes her shudder. Then, nosing at the wet crease in her underwear makes her suck in a breath. Her hands fall into his hair, and in a brief moment of vulnerability, he thinks she’ll push him away. Instead, Betty combs through his hair and sighs as her back bows and her shoulders arch against the bed, pressing herself more firmly against his mouth.

" _Alpha._ "

That one word makes him feel nothing else in the world.

He glances up at her from between her thighs and finds her head tipped back. The light of the moon filters in through the open curtains, only the trees around to witness this. It paints her in shadows of the room's dimmed lighting, and he watches the way she squirms against him with strength beneath his hand.

Jughead presses his tongue against her underwear, and the taste melds with the scent of her, with her arousal. He can _feel_ how much she wants him—like it's engraved into the very marrow of her bones. His instinctual desires bleed into something sweeter, but far more dangerous.

The aim is not to tease, no matter how much he would love to watch her come apart with tears dripping down her cheeks. It's about making her feel _good_ , and somehow that’s even more satisfying than making her wail on his tongue. His nose digs into her mound, and her smell fills him. Deep and rich, and evolving toward intoxicating—his eyelids flutter.

"You smell so fucking good. I'm gonna eat you alive."

Betty still manages to roll her eyes. "Get on with it then."

As much as her tone is snarky, her thighs still press in against him—shy. But her modicum of modesty is half-hearted as she offers her chest out to his seeking fingers. He pinches her nipple between his fingers, plucking upward just as he presses his mouth and lips over soaked fabric.

When he tugs her underwear to the side, the point of his tongue flicks against her clit, and her entire body jumps. She gives him a breathless laugh in between enjoyment and desire as she tugs at his hair.

It burns so good, all over.

One taste of her is enough to make his mouth water, saliva threatening to soak into her panties as his mouth fits over her. She sucks in a breath beneath the weight of his palm, and he licks at her cunt, not quite dipping inside as his hand falls to her navel.

She squirms away from his touch, her teeth biting into her lips as she makes a noise halfway between a moan and giggle. He refuses to let her escape, his hands cupping her belly as he presses his tongue inside her. It’s immediately overwhelming, her juices and his own spit making a mess of his face as he strokes over her body reverently.

Her thighs tense and tighten, over and over, on either side of his head as his hands curl around the curve of her waist. She’s soft there—softer than the rest of her—pretty sun-kissed skin indenting around his fingers as his tongue taps against her clit again.

Bringing a hand down, Jughead slides two fingers into her in a single liquid press as his mouth suctions around her clit. Slick, ambrosia nectar drips onto his tongue and he groans. Betty answers him with a whimper, thighs squeezing around his head as her cunt tightens around his pistoning fingers. He breaks the suction to lick at her clit, tongue then dipping in alongside his fingers and her breath turns to a wheeze as she trembles beneath his touch.

Jughead looks up her bare torso, tongue working back up to trace abstract shapes over the hood of her clit. There's sweat beading inbetween her tits, glistening as the light in the room slowly evaporates into darkness. His cock begins to throb as he presses a third finger inside her and hooks all of them into the swell of her g-spot.

The whimper she lets loose lilts high at the end. Her back arcs beautifully, pushing the heave of her chest toward the ceiling. Her cresting pleasure is addicting, and he gets swept up in it as he licks at her cunt and shoves his fingers deeper inside her.

He could get off just from all the pretty noises she both can and can't choke down.

"Come for me," he growls, tongue flicking over her clit relentlessly and encouraging the motion of her rocking hips with the cup of his palm under her ass. His fingers dig in, pushing and pulling, and he aches to see his fingerprints painted along her skin in the morning.

"F-uck," Betty moans, stretching out the syllables until her head snaps back into the mattress. Her fingers clench and tug at his hair, hips stuttering against the press of his mouth as her thighs begin to tremble. "Jug—" she breathes, going quiet and rigid.

And then she falls apart so beautifully, just for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to be continued...


End file.
